


Gambol

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [52]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>gambol: verb: ˈɡambəl; run or jump about playfully.</p><p>early 16th century: alteration of obsolete gambade, via French from Italian gambata ‘trip up,’ from gamba ‘leg.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gambol

When did he know for sure? He could claim 'love at first sight' but that was too easy, too simplistic for a relationship such as theirs. He had known he had loved him before he had died, in fact felt a large part of himself had gone off the roof with Sherlock, and that part stayed dead until one night, months after he had returned, broken, scarred and changed.

They had been sitting in the silence, each lost in his own thoughts, John thinking about the last case, his shift tomorrow, what to make for dinner; Sherlock composing, that piece that kept getting stuck when suddenly, he found that one bit, and leaped from the couch. 

He ran to his bedroom, dressing so quickly that he wore mismatched socks, then returned; planting a kiss so passionate yet so hurried upon his flatmate's lips that John barely had time to react, threw on his shoes and was out the door.

John ran to the window to watch his friend and whatever else they had just become gambol across Baker Street narrowly missing being hit by two cabs and an astonished cyclist. He touched his lips that still sang from the kiss and smiled.

Sherlock returned half an hour later, arms full of milk, tea and take-away, which he dumped on the counter and knelt in front of his friend.

"The answer to my problem, the solution was - you, John. Always was, always shall be. I was afraid to admit it, afraid you didn't, or couldn't, feel that way. But when I looked over at you, sitting there, still, after everything, I realized and that one piece of music that I'd been writing and rewriting over the last three years finally found an ending - I"

John held out his hand to his friend and whispered, "play it for me, later?"


End file.
